


Prodigal nonsense

by GalekhXigisi



Series: Menstrual fics [14]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Babysitting, Blood, Cuddling & Snuggling, Discussion of Adoption, F/F, F/M, Father Figures, Fluff, Gender Dysphoria, Gil Arroyo Acting as Malcolm Bright's Parental Figure, Health Issues, Light Angst, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Malcolm Bright is Good With Kids, Menstruation, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Soft Fatherly Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Sunshine gets lil kiss, Trans Dani Powell, Trans Edrisa Tanaka, Trans Malcolm Bright, You can pry sickly kid Malcolm out of my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23517502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalekhXigisi/pseuds/GalekhXigisi
Summary: A collection of oneshots centered around Malcolm/Dani/Edrisa's relationship, just generally all nonsense that's out of order.
Relationships: Dani Powell/Edrisa Tanaka, Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell/Edrisa Tanaka, Malcolm Bright/Edrisa Tanaka
Series: Menstrual fics [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559251
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's angst at the end of this but, generally, it's a soft chapter with cuddles and all. I miss my niece so very much, so, here it is, the very first fic I've ever written fro Prodigal Son and something based on the fact that I really miss the little shit. 
> 
> Also, I'm not too adept to PS, given that I'm just a teenager with deadass no knowledge of psychology stuff outside of the random assortment of stuff I've picked up over the years, so I'm very sorry if this is bad. I'll do my best to get better! I'm also doing my best to stay as in character as I can, but, again, I am just a babies

When Dani hears her phone ring, she honestly braces for the worst. It’s a habit she’s had since she was younger. She hated to assume, but it came with the job, the never-ending possibility that something bad could happen and she would be one of the bumps that would come along the road. However, the ID reads _Malcolm Bright_ in white letters, which is actually sort of odd. He doesn’t usually call on the days that Gil (or any of the others) enforce him to take off. He’s learned long ago that he’s far more likely to end up locked in with his mother’s house than he is to get any more information on days he’s forced away. And while it’s rare for those days to occur, he only really calls to check up on everyone and he’s done that already, around nine this morning, supplying that he had plans with his mother (or, more accurately, she had plans with him) so he’d be occupied, anyway. 

She wipes the green button to answer, bringing the phone to her ear as she says, “Bright, something go wrong?” 

“No, actually,” comes his quick reply, “I’m actually making diner.” 

Her next reply comes out as far more of a question than an answer. “But you suck at cooking?” 

“I’m not too bad,” he scoffs, though there comes a little giggle at that that Dani notes is very distinctively _not Malcolm._ It sounded far more human than any noise she’s ever heard come from Sunshine. Malcolm seems to give a soft reply to the gaggle before returning with, “It’s just soup, anyway. It’s one of my great-grandma’s recipes. Never met the woman but my mother said it wasn’t that bad, so I figured I’d try it.” 

“I regret ever trying to get you to have cooking as a hobby.” 

“I’m sure Edrisa does, too,” he snorts in reply. A distracted, “Stop _throwing that,”_ leaves him, higher pitched with a strain but not yet annoyed. “This is the third time you’ve thrown your pappy.” 

“Pappy,” Dani repeats, her brow raising. She almost entirely stops her walking but doesn’t in favor of not getting bumped into by the woman with a stroller behind her, cooing to her baby and not exactly paying too much attention to what’s in front of her. She picks up her steps at the little falter so her heels don’t get bumped. “Malcolm, do you have a baby with you?” 

“I do,” he excitedly tells her. She wonders if he’s been excited to tell her about the kid all day. “My mother had something to attend to, so our day got canceled. One of her old associates was there, one of the few that my mother tolerated, and she needed someone to babysit. I got stuck with Alexander, but he’s very well-behaved and we’ve been having lots of fun today!” 

“Please don’t tell me you took the baby shopping,” she sighs into the phone. 

She can hear the smirk as he says, “I took the baby shopping.” It’s a gloating confirmation that makes her groan softly. “I didn’t do anything bad! We stayed safe! Even made sure to walk on the crosswalk and watch out for cars and all that stuff you're supposed to do.” 

“Don’t you already do all that?” 

“Well, yes, but then I had a baby in a stroller with me.” 

The woman heaves out a soft sigh at that, though it isn’t as if she’s too annoyed. She’s far more worried about baby Alexander than anything. The poor kid. She’s never really seen how Malcolm’s behaved with kids. Tally’s only just beginning her second trimester and JT’s already told him to do his best _not_ to profile the kid if he can, which Malcolm has surprisingly kept quiet about. Instead of focusing on that, she asks, “Is there something you need?” 

“No, no, I just wanted to give you a heads up about Alexander and diner.” 

“I’ll bring take out just in case,” Dani snarks back. 

There’s a playful huff from the other, but Malcolm doesn’t digress. “I guess Edrisa isn’t with you?” 

She shakes her head, not at all minding that he can’t see her. She walks past a bright storefront that makes her squint her eyes in the dark, glaring at the too-bright display. “No, she’s still at the precinct, something about telling Gil one detail or another.” She can already feel him asking internal questions, so she interjects, “And, before you ask, we didn’t get any murders today, just slow work from yesterday and some of the typical stuff. You didn’t miss anything and if you did, I’m sure Gil will fill you in in the morning, okay?” 

He snorts. Dani is entirely certain he’s shaking his head at her as he softly replies, “Yeah, I know, sorry. It’s a habit.” 

“I know,” she replies softly. 

“Okay, Dani,” Malcolm says, “I’ve got to take care of Alex. I’ll see you in a bit?” 

“Of course,” she replies, a smile on her lips, “See you, Bright.” 

“Bye,” he says back, his own smile telling with the higher pitch. There’s another happy giggle from baby Alexander, though it’s cut off by Malcolm hanging up. 

Dani shakes her head affectionately, phone getting tucked away. She’s sure Malcolm will give Edrisa a heads up, too, before she gets home. Until then, Dani ducks into one of the few shops still open to get them a backup meal for tonight in case Malcolm manages to turn the soup into something inedible. He wasn’t _that bad_ at cooking, but he was far from the best. Dani had suggested it to Malcolm, who had eventually been ushered on by Edrisa to take a class or two, which he had and from then on, delved into at least _attempting_ to cook something whenever he got the chance. It wasn’t all that often, but the girls didn’t mind too much and they always tried to have something as a back up on hand. Sometimes, if Malcolm wasn’t entirely hyper-fixed on what he was doing, they would help out, but he had a habit of getting rather invested and spewing random facts as he did so, even if he was the only one listening. 

When she gets back to the loft, she finds Malcolm taking to the little baby that she assumes is Alexander, dark hair and olive skin clashing with Malcolm’s gentler tones as he says, “Now, I did try to make this for my friend, Vijay, when we were younger and he was sick, but, to be honest, I wasn’t very good at it and I really did mess it up. It took us _months_ to get the smell out and it was, all in all, _very_ bad.” 

He stands at the stove, baby Alexander on his hip as he patiently bounces him without any sort of strain in his movement. Sunshine’s out of her cage, perched atop the fridge and curiously watching the two at the stove. Malcolm turns to the bird, asking her something that the bird immediately gives a chortle back at. He smiles, though, turning back to the pot he was stirring. 

“Hey,” Dani says with a smile, watching Malcolm turn. His surprise melts the instant he sees her, a smile taking up his face as soon as he realizes who it is, eyes lighting up. “You’re really taking babysitting seriously, huh?” 

“Of course,” he agrees as he turns back towards the stove, “My mother would be furious otherwise.” 

_“Mhm,”_ she hums in reply, sarcasm bleeding into it without her meaning for it too. Instead of focusing on it, she shakes her head and moves to put the food away. “Did you tell Edrisa?” 

“I called her,” he confirms, “but she didn’t pick up so I sent her a text. I’m not sure if she’s seen it.” There’s the sound of something dropping, then happy little giggles and flubs coming from baby Alexander. Malcolm sets the wooden spoon on the side of the stove before he squats down to pick up what was dropped, the man moving to the sink without hesitation. “I’ve had my hands a bit full,” he sheepishly says as he turns on the cold water, running it over soft green rubber. “I haven’t checked my phone to see since it’s on the charger.” 

Dani nods, smiling as Sunshine moves from her spot on the refrigerator to somewhere else around the loft. She shuts the door and peers at the rubber in Malcolm’s hand, her finger half-heartedly pointing at it as she asks, “Alexander’s pacifier?” 

“Pappy,” Malcolm nods in confirmation. He passes it to the little baby, who gurgles once more. “Ainsley is coming to get him in a couple of hours.” 

Dani merely nods, faltering as she turns towards the television. Surprisingly, it had taken her a moment to realize that _Wheels On The Bus_ was playing, a brow raising. “Why do you have Wheels On The Bus Playing?” 

Malcolm’s attention snaps up to the television, the man laughing instantly as he realizes what’s playing. “Sorry! I had some baby playlist on YouTube playing. I forgot I even had it on.” He calmly twists back to turn towards the stove, moving to stir the soup once more before putting the top on it and turning the burner down. “You can watch something else if you want, I just forgot to change it.” 

The woman shakes her head in response. “No, it’s fine.” She takes her coat off, hanging it up and sliding her shoes off after. Socked feet press against the floor as she relaxes. “How long until the soup’s done?” 

“Ten, fifteen minutes? I’m not exactly sure, to be honest with you. The recipe is actually pretty vague.” 

She snorts at his reply, sighing softly as she moves to sit on the couch. 

That’s how Edrisa finds them ten minutes later, though Malcolm was spooning out soup while Dani mouthed along to _Five Little Monkeys_ as she scrolled through her phone on the couch. Malcolm still holds tight to Alexander, although the baby had now transferred from his left hip to his right. He was softly singing along to the song as he rocked his hips to the beat, making gentle gestures in between when he does and doesn’t have soup in the ladle. 

“Oh, fuck, don’t tell me we didn’t use protection,” she says within an instant. 

_“Fuck,”_ the baby practically squeals, making Malcolm freeze up and repeat the word, albeit much lower with his cheeks heated red. Dani lets out a laugh. 

Malcolm shakes his head as he pats at the baby’s back, very careful with the ladle, moving it so he didn’t accidentally hit the baby with it or get soup on either of them. “No, no, this is my mother’s friend’s baby, I’m just babysitting for her today.” He heaves out a soft sigh. “I don’t think I’d be able to conceal pregnancy, birth, and much less a literal one and a half-year-old child, anyway.” 

Edrisa snorts, though she tilts her head, apologetic as she toes off her shoes and hangs up her coat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to teach the baby a bad word.” 

“I don’t know if Alexander’s mom cusses around him or not,” Malcolm confesses lowly as he puts a bowl of soup on the minibar, two more following as he moves around the little island. “Dani, can you get me the baby food out of the baby bag? It’s in the back compartment, the big one that’s got the bunny pin.” 

“Yeah,” she says as she moves, standing up before rummaging through a bag on the couch beside her. “Did you not get Malcolm’s text,” she asks Edrisa, her attention focused on the bag. 

The woman shakes her head. “Phone died,” she says, patting at the dead device in her pocket. “No one had a charger that fit my phone, unfortunately.” 

Malcolm scoffs but doesn’t press on. They already had a very large debate on Samsung versus Apple, which had ended in Malcolm arguing that a general android was far more likely to hold up without a green line or shattered screen, which both Dani and Edrisa had sported. No, Malcolm’s phone was not in the best shape, but it was far older than both of theirs and he only had a few scratches, which was better than either of the women could say. 

“We’re not getting into that tonight,” Dani chides, a finger pointed at him as she digs around the bag, producing a red little jar after a moment. “Is the kid still in the baby food phase?” 

“His mom says it’s all he’s eating right now,” Malcolm supplies with a shrug. 

  
  
  
  


Hours later, long after Ainsley’s come to get Alexander and they’d decided that the soup was, in fact, edible and Malcolm could cook soup without taking out the building in the process, the three laid in bed, Edrisa on Malcolm’s left, Dani on his right. The shorter woman runs a thin finger along the top surgery scars on his chest, the tiredness of the day seeping into her as she relaxes, practically putty from her spot. It’s no secret to anyone that she was typically the first to fall asleep, Dani the second, and Malcolm the last. Usually, Malcolm was the first to wake, then Edrisa and Dani would get up around the same time, alarms set beside each other 

Malcolm combs his fingers through Dani’s hair, just barely disturbing the curls as he does so. Even in the dim light, Edrisa can see his brows furrow, no need for her glasses. She softly says, “You’re both thinking hard right now, what’s on your minds?” 

“Do you two want kids,” Malcolm asks, though he instantly backtracks with, “I know this is early on in a relationship to ask but-” 

“I don’t know,” Dani interjects before he can dig himself too deep of a hole. “There’s a lot of responsibility and we’ll have a lot to do. I haven’t really thought about having kids, honestly.” 

“Me, either,” Edrisa says through a yawn. 

Malcolm hums softly at hearing that. “Would I be carrying the kid? Or would we adopt? Get a surrogate? Foster?” 

The shortest of them gives a few gentle pats of her palm to his chest. “We don’t have to think about it right now, Malcolm. We’ve can talk about it in the morning, once we’ve all slept.” She interlaces her fingers in Dani’s, who runs her thumb over Edrisa’s own, almost a questioning sort of motion. 

However, two minutes later, Edrisa finds that neither are going to drop the topic right now. So, this time she asks, “What’s wrong,” instead of trying to fuss at her two lovers. 

“Would we even be able to _have kids,”_ Dani deadpans, “and I mean it more as a polyamory relationship standpoint instead of a biological one.” 

Edrisa shrugs lightly. “I know you can in Canada, and in most states, you legally can if it’s a biological child to one parent, but I’m not sure about adoption.” 

Malcolm shakes his head. “A polyamorous relationship can only adopt in California, Delaware, and Washington in the United States,” he says, though he hesitates, “but New York has slowly been allowing more people to adopt. I’m not sure about fostering, though.” It almost sounds as if Malcolm had already researched it, which makes Edrisa wonder is he has. She wouldn’t at all doubt it, what with how easily he took to Alexander, much to her and Dani’s shared surprise. There wasn’t much he could relate to a baby, but he seemed great with Alexander earlier. 

“Oh,” is all Dani says. It doesn’t sound upset, far more surprised than anything. 

“I was wondering about carrying,” Malcolm confesses lowly, sounding somber as he does so. “I’ve never really… _thought_ about having kids, to begin with, adopted or biological. It wasn’t really something I could focus on.” It’s unsaid why, the fear that he would turn out like his father sitting heavily between the three of them, not yet discarded but pushed to the side. He tells, “I thought about it when I was younger, about having children then, maybe as an attention cry or something like that so I could have something to do.” 

Edrisa runs a hand through Malcolm’s hair, meeting Dani’s hand already up there. 

“Maybe it was because everyone else was doing it? Or because I was so sick then and in bad health that I just… I thought that it would… It would _kill me_ and I wouldn’t have to deal with anything anymore.” His hands shake at the words as he forces them out. 

He had been upfront that his health was far from the best, that his transition helped a hefty amount with it and helped him be healthier, though he never explained why. Both women had theories, not that they’d tell them until he was ready for it. As it turns out, now seems like the right time. 

“I had all these health issues. Polycystic ovaries, an allergy to estrogen,” Edrisa flinches at hearing that, “some crappy blood clotting factors.” It didn’t take a scientist to know where this was going. “I tried birth control when I was younger since it was supposed to help prevent cancer and whatever else comes with that. I got blood clots, a lot of them, spent a week in the hospital. My mother threw a _fit.”_

Dani’s fingers fall from Edrisa’s as the woman leans up, moving to press a gentle kiss to his temple that Edrisa mirrors a moment after. Soft words leave the two, sweet nothings that won’t mean anything in a few minutes but comfort Malcolm, thankfully. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, relaxing back against the bed as he forces down his frustration. Neither says anything, letting him have his moment to breathe, chest rising and falling quickly in the dark. “As I was saying,” he continues, albeit much calmer now, “going on hormones was ill-advised, but my mother doesn’t take no for an answer and she threw an absolute fit, so I got put on them anyway. I have no idea what will happen if I go off of them, which I’ll have to, to have a baby. I’ll be on blood thinners, I know that, and I’ll have to go for check-ups a lot.” 

“If we _do_ have a kid,” Edrisa says, “We’ll be with you every step of the way, Malcolm.” 

Dani nods in agreement, voicing, “I wouldn’t let you do it by yourself, anyway. What kind of girlfriend would I be if I made you do it alone, anyway?” 

“One that knows your own mental limits,” Malcolm bitterly chuckles, though the bitterness isn’t aimed at them. 

The tall woman presses a gentle kiss to the corner of Malcolm’s lips, smiling lightly. “Go to bed, Bright.” 

“Yeah, okay,” he says softly, seemingly having no fight in him as he does so. It’s easy to tell he’s actually going to listen as he relaxes, a hand once again combing through Dani’s hair while the other rubs soothing circles into Edrisa’s back. 


	2. red stains with strains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is having a bad day that only gets worse when he runs off to the bathroom. At the end, Gil is there for comfort (because I love a fatherly figure).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers that I can think of on hand: Menstruations, health issues, trauma, blood, gender dysphoria, mentioned triggers, mentioned panic attacks, mentioned necrophilia, mentioned murder (obviously) 
> 
> I will not put triggers every fic but these seemed kind of big and this chapter isn't too light for trans mascs with dysphoria centered around menstruation so please be careful and keep that in mind for the future.

Malcolm almost wants to laugh at the sight of red. It would be nothing more than an incredibly bitter noise, one forced there to assure that tears wouldn’t stain his cheeks. And he does let out a little scoff at seeing it, though it burns his throat and feels far more like there’s bile accompanying it than anything else. It was just his luck for something like this to happen, wasn’t it? Bright luck? _Whitly_ luck? No, he doubts it’s Whitly luck, given that Ainsley is still doing practically amazingly when compared to Malcolm. He’s pathetic when compared to his little sister who shines bright in everyone’s eyes _(well, except Martin’s, but who craves his approval? Malcolm certainly doesn’t.)._

He knew some of the triggers for a menstrual cycle. Loss of virginity (without the extra means for production) was one of them, but Malcolm had hit that mark years ago when he was younger and didn’t exactly know better. A severe fluctuation in weight could do it, too, but Malcolm knew that couldn’t be it. He had practically stayed the same weight for the past thirteen, maybe fourteen years, if not _more._ Even with Dani and Edrisa getting him to eat more than just his typical palette, his weight still has yet to fluctuate too much. 

There is another thing, though, that he isn’t entirely sure or not could have happened. A severe amount of stress can trigger his cycle. It hadn’t been the first time, but he finds himself wondering one thing; _Why now?_ He hasn’t been doing _anything_ like that! In fact, he’s been far safer as of late than he has in the past maybe fifteen years! He’s been doing his best to stay out of trouble in cases. He hasn’t been shot at in two weeks. He hasn’t been hospitalized in one! That was a _gigantic_ step towards progress! Even his nightmares had somewhat dimmed, enough that his wrists are only _so dark_ instead of the sickly purple they used to be from the restraints he tethered to himself. 

Okay, that last one was a bit of a lie. He still had severe nightmares, but these were the ones that made him freeze up, even in his sleep, the involuntary freezing bit of his fight or flight reflexes making way to bite him in the ass. Instead of bruises, he had cuts and friction burns that he patched up in the morning when he woke up, but, _still,_ no bruises! 

He supposes it could be the accumulated visits with his father. That might make sense. This week, he’d already seen him four times, and that was just in the past three days! He isn’t even counting the mandatory other two he took early this week just to get it all out of his head. 

There had been two cases. Someone with an extreme necrophilic craving that got off to severing heads and watching people die that Malcolm had to talk suspicions with to Doctor Whitly twice about since there was an obvious skill to it. He had to discuss who in the Hell Martin thought it could be since it was around his old stomping grounds. One of the other two came from the day before, with yet another fetish-practicing murderer, albeit this one much sloppier that Malcolm hadn’t exactly needed his father’s insight for more than he needed a chance to gather his thoughts, which Martin involuntarily completed for his oldest child. It had been far more of an overwhelming getaway than anything else and he had left as soon as he possibly could have.

The very first visit, though, could probably have been the only one to shake Malcolm enough that it could have caused his current predicament. They had a fight. It wasn’t abnormal, really, what with Martin twisting the knife as much as he possibly could and Malcolm facing the never-ending paranoia that accompanied all the trust issues his father guided him with. It didn’t help that his deadname came out during it. Malcolm’s blood had run cold and he ended up walking out then and there as if he hadn’t heard his father yell all those triggering sets of words that still rang fresh in his mind days later. He likes to pretend he doesn’t sharpen the time he heard a father in the park yell, _Come on, boy,_ to his son, but he knows everyone noticed it out when they were there for part of the case. If he had to walk off, well, no one said anything when he got back. 

He thinks that may have been it, but it was a stretch. Although, that wasn’t their first fight this month and it was far from the first time Malcolm had ended up getting triggered during one of the fights. Hell, just two weeks ago, Mister David had to pull him out of his father’s room to help lull him out of a panic attack so severe that Malcolm ended up outright passing out and needing to be sedated after, though that hadn’t helped him at all with his _I’m not like my father_ attempted mentality, knocking it down more than just a couple of pegs. Waking up in a mental hospital chained to a bed with Mister David hovering over him? Yeah, that’s something he doesn’t think even a highly trained therapist would touch with a ten-foot pole until he processed unless forced. 

He can’t say he didn’t exactly see it coming. He found himself being snappier with everyone, even having to walk out of the precinct once so he didn’t punch one of the people he was trying to question square in the mouth. Gil had been the first to catch wind that something was wrong, the rest of the precinct to follow if the time he tackled someone for running his mouth while holding a gun to Malcolm’s head, albeit the fact that that man _was_ a murderer who was far more than just someone to be considered armed and dangerous. 

(Malcolm liked to reason with himself that having a gun pointed to his head and getting shot at were two very distinct and very different things, though they still caused Gil the same amount of stress and his mother the same amount of lip.) 

He hates being at the precinct for this. There’s a lot to draw out from it, there being blood just being one of the many. He is _so_ thankful that he didn’t wear the red suit Ainsley had suggested today, even if he knows she’ll frown the instant she hears him tell her that he instead went for his typical darks. She’ll have a fit, he’s aware, but he already fought himself on it this morning and he doesn’t think he could be so happy with a petty decision just there to piss off his sister after she upset him last week. It was a sibling sort of thing, he reasoned as he breathed out a shaky sigh. 

It’s not that the restrooms are all that hard to navigate. There are stalls on one side, urinals on its side, and then sinks in the front of the two, though they’re far more in front of the stalls than anything. Either way, it doesn’t matter at the moment because there’s blood on Malcolm’s hand that is surprisingly his own and not from a flesh wound like normal, nor was he getting carted away by Gil’s fatherly insistence, either. His stomach is doing flips as he pulls out a hefty wad of toilet paper and stuffs it in the same underwear that he’ll certainly have to run beneath cold water with salt and hydrogen peroxide the instant he gets home. He wipes his hands off and does his business as if his whole entire mood hadn’t been soured within seconds and his eyes don’t burn with unshed tears. 

He keeps a few sheets of too-thin toilet paper between his hand and the handle to open the stall. He’s incredibly thankful that there was no one else in there _and_ that the toilets didn’t require physical contact to flush. Otherwise, he thinks he may have just thrown up then and there at having to look back. He tosses the paper in the trash and moves to tuck his hand beneath the sink’s faucet, wetting his hands before getting soap on them, washing away the red and orange stain and pretend that the tears that fall into the sink are because his allergies are bad and not because his hips burn on the tips of his pelvis bone and his uterus doesn’t feel bloated to the point that it’s painful. It’s a hefty amount of ignorance he has to feign so that he doesn’t start bawling then and there in the precinct’s bathroom. 

He wipes them away just in time for someone to enter the restrooms. He couldn’t say he _wasn’t_ expecting Gil to follow him out of that fatherly concern he always housed for Malcolm, but he couldn’t say he ever genuinely expected someone to care enough to actually do any sort of follow-ups even after years of Gil trying to train it into his head that he _cared for him._

“Hey, kid,” Gil says, leaning a hip against the sink, “You alright? You sort of ran off and I don’t think it was from Edrisa’s bad pick-up line.” 

Malcolm laughs, though it comes out nasily and he sniffles after. He attempts to smile but he knows he’s been caught. “No, no, it wasn’t that,” he confesses.

Gil hums for a moment, running his eyes up and down the younger man for a moment as Malcolm wipes his hands off with a paper towel. It takes him a second, but Gil eventually clasps his shoulder and says, “You look a little worse for wear, Bright. Maybe take the rest of your shift off? I’m sure JT and I can handle everything with Dani and a few other officers. Nothing big’s happened today, anyway.” 

For once, Malcolm doesn’t have any sort of fight in him. In fact, he sort of just wants to go back to his loft and lay in bed for the next week attempting to ignore the ache in his body. He thinks that if he would have just ignored the wet warmth a little bit longer, still caught up in hyper-fixing on explaining an old case to Edrisa, he would have been able to pull the _ignorance is bliss_ card to prevent just maybe another minute of that ache, but his menstrual cycle was never kind to him, nor was it ever going to let him pull that. The second he had realized what was going on, he had darted to the bathroom, paling significantly and throat feeling far too tight. 

“Okay,” Malcolm says, watching Gil’s face shift, surprise taking over within an instant. “Don’t give me that,” he huffs with a smile, “I know certain limits of mine.” That was a lie, he knew most of them. He knew how much he could push himself before he dropped like dead weight. He wouldn’t admit that unless he was seven days without sleep and just barely standing, though. 

Gil smiles, though, which is a giant comfort as he says, “Sorry. Okay, kid, come on. Let’s get you all ready to go for the day. Your phone is still on the charger in the office.” 

“You sound like my mother,” he jokes as he walks with him. 

The older man opens the door as he asks, “Is that so bad?” 

It takes Malcolm a moment, but he softly answers, “I’m not sure,” curiosity edging into his tone. He really doesn’t. However, he can’t say he’s too equipped to deal with if his fatherly figure being attracted to his mother, emphasis on the _figure_ part of it all. 

The younger man just barely manages to withhold a physical sigh of relief at finding the room devoid of others. As much as he loved his girlfriends and JT, he doesn’t think he’s in any mood to explain to them why he’s going home early, although he’s certain that Gil notices him relaxing because he gently rubs the other’s back, the motion a comforting sort of one that has Malcolm _actually_ breathing a sigh of relief at. He doesn’t have to say anything, squatting down to collect his phone and the charger with it. 

Even if he doesn’t want to admit it, he’s entirely certain Gil is very aware of what’s going on and why he had to dip in the middle of a sentence to run _(like a coward, his mind supplies for him.)._ Between the times Malcolm had ended up at Jackie and Gil’s house in a fit of disarray or dysphoria was astounding. He’d run away more than just once, always on the man’s doorstep. Gil had learned that Malcolm’s mysteriously erratic menstrual was an entire bitch that came whenever it wanted, hormone replacement therapy or not with Malcolm’s stressful lifestyle. It wasn’t as if they could raise the testosterone anymore, anyway, so Malcolm has come to learn certain limits, which Gil silently understands without a peep. 

‘I’ll tell the team,” Gil says, “Got any story you want me to go with specifically or?”

“I don’t know,” Malcolm says with an arm shrug, throwing the two limbs at his side up in what could have been read as silent defeat, “Make something up? Maybe I was sick?’ 

“Kid, we’ve seen you come in with a flu that left you barely standing.” 

“That’s fair,” Malcolm heaves out in a soft sigh, nodding. “I don’t know, then.” 

“I’ll bite, but if they ask questions, I’m giving them the same look I gave Vijay when you two were kids.” 

Malcolm lets out a loud groan that had the older man laughing within an instant, a smiling lighting up both of their faces, albeit Malcolm’s is accompanied with a bright blush at even hearing the recommendation. “God, Vijay didn’t shut up about it for _weeks,”_ he laughs, hands covering his eyes and the tops of his cheeks far more than anything else. 

“Is that a _‘no’_ on that look, then?” 

“I don’t care,” Malcolm answers with a wave, which is an easy _go for_ that goes without saying. “I don’t think they’ll understand it for a while, anyway.” 

Gil snorts softly. “Okay, I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling too hot. That sound any good to you?” 

Malcolm nods as he opens the door to the office, already halfway out of it. He agrees, “Yeah, of course.” 

“And Bright?” 

The younger man snaps his attention back to him with a curious hum. 

“I better not see you come in unless I call you for _at least_ the next three days, got it?” 

Malcolm groans loudly as he shuffles away, but he does softly shut the door behind him with a half-hearted wave and, “Bye, Gil. See you later.” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may write a part 2 for this (if I do, I'll tag it with a chapter name) but I'm not sure yet. I most likely will write a sic fic of Malcolm with the flu but, again, I'm not sure yet. 
> 
> Please comment ideas of what you all would like to see! Prompts, general ideas, anything of that sort! (If you want something to be on anon, my Tumblr is Galehk-Xigisi :) )

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are very much appreciated, if you find the time to leave one! If you have criticism, make it constructive or don't say anything, I'm not here for blatant hate.  
> If you really liked my fic, here's my writing Discord!  
> https://discord.gg/eGkwayy


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